


The Most Dangerous Game

by FantasyRyder



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Alternative Universe - The Hunt, Alternative Universe - The Most Dangerous Game, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Human Trafficking, Kidnapping, M/M, Poor Will, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Someone Help Will Graham, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 18:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyRyder/pseuds/FantasyRyder
Summary: I gathered elements from the novella The Most Dangerous game and what I've heard about The Hunt, a movie that was supposed to come out this year, to write this fanfiction.Hannibal becomes peacefully aware of an event in which rich men can hunt without repercussion, but they aren't hunting any normal animal.Will becomes aware less peacefully.





	The Most Dangerous Game

After his last patient left, Hannibal finally had the time to check his emails while he cooked dinner. He scrolled past the messages his customers left him carelessly, currently uninterested and no longer obligated to care given he was no longer on his established working hours. They could afford to wait. 

Despite that mentality, he found one name to be considerably unusual in his inbox, unlike his usually needy clientele. 

After opening the message, he realized just who sent him the message.

Almost exactly a year ago, Hannibal took part in a social experiment decades in the making. The group who established it wanted to consider it a social experiment anyway. Calling it as such made them sound more sophisticated than they actually were, but unlike them, the psychiatrist was aware of what he was, a beast, inhuman, and so he allowed himself to participate.

The experiment was setup by millionaires, billionaires, and men of a higher class, men like Hannibal. 

It was a yearly event, eleven months of preparation and nominations, a week of travel and establishment, and three weeks of the hunt. Anyone who had been given access to the game would be allowed to nominate any individual of their choosing. 

When the killer was given access, he nominated a particularly annoying patient just to see if the event was a real as it seemed. Soon enough, that patient went missing and Hannibal had to put on another mask: a mask of grief and emotion, one of his many. In that week, he realized just why such a game was created. A year of acting like you cared about those below you would be enough to go mad for anyone except Hannibal. 

Hannibal was already mad after all.

Once June hit, those who were nominated and their basic profiles were displayed on the site, and after the first week of the month, the game began. Hannibal didn’t take part in the second half of the process, he didn’t have the time, being a busy man and all, so instead, he read up on and watched the updates.

He found the games to be similar to the novella “The Most Dangerous Game”, written by Richard Connel. 

Any rich man who had access to the site could not only nominate victims but nominate themselves to be a predator, the hunter, to slaughter and be free of judgement. 

Suffice to say, Hannibal had an ounce of regret, and aimed to fully participate the next year.

With that in mind, and the opportunity now upon him, he found himself entering the site (with a newly updated address to evade detection and predictability) and nominated himself.

Staring at the page for a few more moments, he released a belated sigh and closed it to inform his patients of his soon-to-be two week absence.

///

“You can’t be serious, Graham.”

The firm tone shook the teacher from his trance as he stared down at the stack of graded and ungraded quizzes, previously blurry answers now sharpening with his focus.

Without lifting his head, he looked up at the seething boy standing in front of his desk through the brim of his glasses. He was mad. What was he mad about? Of course, the failed essay that his bitchy teacher had a student pass out while he sat on his ass and graded for the rest of the hour. Surely his dad would be angered, would take it out on him since his mother left a few months a-.

Will cringed at his thoughts and looked back down at the stale black and white of the papers to gather himself before he spoke. Attempting to break the tension that flowed from the student and threatened to suffocate his teacher..

“I’m not really strict about my name. Call me Professor Graham, Mr. Graham, or even Will. I honestly don’t care that much, but please, don’t just say “Graham”, it makes you sound brash.”

He scoffed, obviously annoyed with the teachers words before he lifted his paper, clenched in a defined fist, and shoved it dangerously close to Will’s face. In response, he leaned back and away. 

“Answer the question. What’s wrong with it.”

Will was done to put it bluntly and sighed, blinking away after regarding the paragraphs of tips and critiques sitting beside every bit of misinformation and redundant sentence, written in blue ink as to influence memorization.

“You obviously didn’t even bother reading it, Marcus. Please,” Will hated begging the jock like he was back in high school but if that’s what would make him leave, he’d do it over and over, “Read the advice I wrote for you and come back. I’ll be happy to give you something for extra credit if you come to me the right way next time.” 

As he spoke, he reached up and pulled the paper down so it would no longer hinder his vision of the student. Hesitantly, he regarded his features for a second time.

Cruelty has made me equally cruel. He’s obviously the type that I’d haze brutally if he was in my grade, if he had my title, but instead I have to answer to this prick. A swift punch to the stomach would do the trick, establish dominance, I of all people would understand that. But would I go further? I’d want to. I’d want to go much further. I can go further.

“Mr. Graham?”

“Yes?” Will breathed out in a sudden hitched gasp, the haze leaving his eyes at once as he looked at the now, oddly calmed student, shutting away his emotional awareness and now just seeing like any other person.

He had a brown blemish on his shirt. Subtle. A mere fleck. It could be a recent, like barbeque sauce from the school cafeteria, or an old blood stain.

“Yeah. I’ll take you up on it. After lunch?” He smiles with shut lips, a sparkle not meeting his eyes. Marcus obviously had yet to achieve his CEO father’s deceivingly charming smile.

“Sure,” Will spoke in a disrespectful rush, eager to get the boy out of his hair and glad when he turned on his heel and left the classroom. 

Once he was alone, the teacher released a sigh and ran his fingers through his tangled, curly hair and squeezed his eyes shut, aiming to will a headache away as it appeared.

///

Another day passed and Hannibal found himself looking to the website again, sipping his steaming tea and glancing over the victims that had been nominated over the months. Nomination time at the final hour.

He was pleased with the prey listed, glancing over their profiles with interest. 

Many were well built men, not exceeding the age of forty, viable prey, not easy to kill, fun. Hannibal’s crows feet crinkled with what he could only categorize as eagerness.

Another majority was attractive women, never exceeding the age of thirty-two. Hannibal assumed their purpose was to satisfy a sicker side of the human condition: a man’s urge to dominate. Suffice to say, Hannibal was uninterested, having never found himself to enjoy taking advantage of someone in such a way.

The miscellaneous nominations were bosses, fellow rich men and women, and coworkers, simply nominated out of passion, those who would inevitably deal with the most agonizing of the deaths.

Hannibal couldn’t stop the page before it refreshed and added another victim to the roster.

///

Two days passed and Marcus neglected to visit Will after or before class to receive his extra credit. 

Will wished the boy was embarrassed and guilty for the stunt he’d pulled before, he wished that was why he hadn’t been visited, but when their eyes would occasionally meet while Will lectured, he only saw a boy with a plan. 

As he packed up his materials at the end of the day, he tried to formulate the student’s plan ahead of time. 

His father was rather prolific in the city Will worked in. It’d be a possibility that he’d try to use his father’s good reputation to get him fired, but Will couldn’t scratch off the idea that it could be something more sadistic.

He decided to visit the dean the next morning to explain his concerns. It’d seem elementary to fear a student but at least Will would be able to get over the additional nuisance.

The night air was crisp when he unrolled the windows on his way home. The sobering scent of pine and wood filling his minivan and soothing the unease that had accumulated over the past forty-eight hours. 

He drove these roads back and forth more than six days a week at time and allowed his eyes to close for a few moments.

As he lolled himself into a relaxing head space, a firm, sharp smelling rag was practically jammed against his nose and mouth.

Always the good driver, Will did not swerve but slammed his foot on the brakes, released the wheel and attempted to pull off the hand that hindered his ability to breath, unable to gain any advantage. 

It was a man’s hand, callouses and burns all over it. The man sat in the seat behind Will and used his weight and strength to keep Will’s head in place, jammed against the headrest. 

When bright blue eyes flickered to the rear view mirror, aiming to gather facial details, the man’s other hand came around the other side of the driver’s seat and covered Will’s eyes.

Will could no longer move his head and neck. He couldn’t see, breath, or smell, only able to use his legs and lower half as he tried to to kick about and wrench himself from the steely hold he was locked in, silently cursing himself for having his seat pushed too close.

A common misconception of chloroform that always bothered Will was the speed at which it worked. Instead of taking seconds, it took minutes, and the teacher was sure that a minute had already passed. 

He stopped caring about the brakes long ago and allowed himself to take shuddering breaths through his mouth. He wasn’t getting a lot of hair through the man’s hand, but it was enough to keep him from suffocating as the van slowly rolled forward. 

Another minute of struggle passed and suddenly the van rolled down into a ditch on the side of the road and hit a tree head on. 

The airbag blew out on impact, the mass hitting the man in the hand which shielded Will from the damage as it received it.

It must have broke, or cracked, as the hand was wrenched from Will’s face at once with an haunting growl of anger and pain from behind him.

At that, Will knew he had to go. He was hazy, as nearly three minutes of chloroform inhalation wasn’t anything to walk off, but he was in danger, and couldn’t afford to be tired.

He jerked open his door and pushed the airbag away, stumbling as he ran before the hard force of the psycho slammed him against the forest floor and held him there. 

Fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head up from the old, dried leaves, threat of a concussion obvious until he simply grasped Will’s throat. 

He paid no mind to Will’s jerking until his heart continued to beat and he grew limp, head falling to the damp ground after it was released.

The man stood from the body he’d been pinning and turned to look at the crashed minivan, silently annoyed at the mess that’d been made before messaging his boss of his success and leaving, with Will, to a vehicle that laid in wait nearby.

///

“Will Graham,” Hannibal mouthed to himself, intrigued by the man’s profile and abrupt nomination as the timer ran down to zero, finalizing the roster with the criminal profiler.

**Author's Note:**

> I love establishing new alternative universes.
> 
> I appreciate comments and criticism, thank you all for reading!


End file.
